


Remembering the Pain

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-04-15
Updated: 2001-04-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 18:04:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11340585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atThe Basement, which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onThe Basement's collection profile.





	Remembering the Pain

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Remembering the Pain (the lost scene) by phyre

You know, I had great plans for this ... <sigh>. It was actually supposed to be part of the sequel to 'Shared Pain' but it won't fit. A reference to it works better.  
I didn't want to just delete it so I thought I could inflict a little angst on you folks tonight.  
It's just a snip, nothing more.  
No betas were hurt in its production.

* * *

'Remembering the Pain'  
(the lost scene)  
by phyre 

The shrill ring of a phone jarred Mulder from his sleep. Swearing softly, he checked his watch and felt blindly along the edge of the coffee table for the offending device. In a voice still thick with sleep, he answered 'Mulder'.

"Fox Mulder?"

More awake now and equally wary, he replied, "Yeah. Who's this?"

"I'm Michael Fitzpatrick. I tend bar down at the 'Crossed Arms'. There's a guy here, pretty well drunk too, he gave me your number, says his name is Krycek and that you'd know him. Look, I can't let him drive home and he won't let me hail a cab. I don't think he has anywhere to go. Can you help me out? I don't want to put him out in the street. It's too damn cold and he's in bad shape."

"You've been had, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Alex Krycek is dead." Mulder hung up the phone and lay in the dark, wondering. He's dead, he has to be. Or in the gulag with that black oil in him. Either way, he's not sitting down in that bar. This is just someone's idea of a really bad joke. He turned on his side and tried for sleep.

30 minutes later Mulder was still tossing and turning on his couch. Sighing loudly, frustration clearly etched on his face, he sat up, put on his sneakers and grabbed his jacket from the nearby chair. Ignoring the voices in his head that told him it was all a trap, he headed for his car.

Mulder pushed through the heavy oak doors of the 'Crossed Arms' and adjusted his eyes to the dimly lit, smoke filled room. He scanned the nearly empty bar and found a familiar figure sitting alone in a booth; a half-empty bottle stood on the table before the man, alongside an empty glass.

Bile rose in Mulder's throat leaving an acid trail in its wake as he walked toward the shadowed figure. It can't be him! He's dead; he never could have made it out of there alive. The ludicrousness of that thought hit him hard. For Christ's sake, why couldn't he? I got out. He has connections just the same as I. So, how did he do it? As he walked closer to the table he assessed Krycek's physical appearance. Damn, he looks like shit. Something's just not right.

He watched Krycek turn his head and stare with cold unreadable eyes. "The good Mr. Fitzpatrick over there was determined I leave in a warm car. Apparently he thinks I'm too drunk to drive, or even walk for that matter. I never dreamed you would actually show up, Mulder."

"Is that why you gave him my number? And please, don't fall all over yourself giving thanks. I just came to see if you were really alive." Mulder took a step backward, ready to turn and leave but stopped cold, his eyes fixed on Krycek's beat up leather jacket. My God, there's no arm. There's no *arm*. What the hell happened?

Cautiously, he slid into the booth across from Krycek while trying to avert his eyes from the empty sleeve. Oh fuck, what happened? Retribution? Punishment? What? He signaled for the bartender to bring another glass. "So Krycek, where've you been these past few weeks?"

The terse reply came out in a graveled whisper. "Around."

Mulder poured the vodka into Krycek's glass, then his own and waited.

Krycek's stare pinned him. "You want to know what happened?"

"Do you want to tell me?"

Krycek looked through him into the past. "I remember the pain ... ."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

phyre 

http://www.squidge.org/~phyre/phyre.html

~The leather didn't sting ... it kissed.~

  
Archived: 23:56 03/13/01 


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